THE JOKE

Wherein an awkward songbird named Melody heads for the bright lights to make it by any means necessary in the cutthroat avian music scene under the Santa Monica boardwalk where the chosen one gets to lead the Dawn Chorus.

Daybreak in the city of Los Angeles –

Riffing on the opening of Lumet’s Dog Day Afternoon we travel the city in a 2.5D animated CREDIT SEQUENCE witnessing a series of song-driven urban dawn vignettes where we glimpse characters and locations which we will revisit in later episodes of the show: the Petsmart food emporium target of THE HEIST (ep. 105); strays cornered in an alley by an animal control truck (fresh recruits in ep. 102 MENACE), etc.

The camera finds MELODY, a songbird, who steps into frame as if anticipating something, ready for her closeup.

We reveal that she’s on top of an out-of-town bus pulling in to disgorge the latest arrivals – migrant rodents drop from the wheel wells, birds flutter from the roof. Melody tumbles.

A migration of Emo cowbirds, Mohawked Cockatoos, small town beauty queen water birds with their long skinny legs, hungry schemers and dreamers, all here in avian form. And among them Melody – a backyard bluejay with a gammy wing that hangs crooked and makes flying an erratic feat at best; a souvenir from tangling with a possessive squirrel over a feeder back in Kansas City.

Melody’s unsure for a moment. Maybe this was all a mistake. There’s nothing exotic about Melody. She comes from Kansas City.  Raised by birds who were too fat to fly by the time she came along. Many schools of hard knocks and mud baths.

Then she hears the songbird voice from the opening credits - carried on the wind. She turns towards the sun, poking its head above the water.

She watches eagerly, urging the sun along with the song that rises and fills in, pulling the sun from the water. “That’s going to be me,” she says, choked with emotion, to an uninterested sparrow.

But first she has to get off the bus. Half fluttering half falling in a sloppy spiral she lands in the street just as the light turns green. Dodging near misses from monster-voiced vehicles disgorging bags of fast food trash from their windows, darting across Neilson Way is like merging onto the LA freeway for the first time, a butt puckering live-or die experience for the newcomer. By the time she gets to the far side she is dirty, tarred with a blob of melted gum, and overwhelmed, ass over teakettle in an empty big gulp cup.

Then she hears DJANGCROW on the beach below.

He’s a washed up be-bop busker plucking a home made 3 fishing wire-stringed guitar.

Melody likes what she hears and tosses him a seed in appreciation.

DjangCrow passes on his 5 seeds of advice to a newbie on the seductive lights of the Pier.

Melody - “The Pier! Yes, please tell me, how do I get to the pier of dreams?”

Here we establish the belief among the community that the sun will only rise if someone leads the dawn chorus and the greatest ambition is to win the sing off and earn that privilege.

DjangCrow chuckles then launches into an extended coughing fit, eyes bulging, until at last he coughs up a penny. “Bad tips,” he gasps. “Follow your beak little mama.” She turns and there it is, in all its Times Square lit up blinking brilliance: Santa Monica Pier.

She puffs her breast and takes a step. “Not up there!” Crow cackles. “Below!”

Under the boardwalk is a big avian city of broken dreams. The slatted half-light illuminating the seedy birdsong scene below decks where hustlers and sharks ply their trade offering the best perches for each evening’s sing-off.

Melody lives by a code. It’s not a cool code. She’s a weird bird, sensitive to bad behavior. As brave and ‘out there’ as she may seem, she lives by her Kansas City ways.

She is offered a scalped perch by a friendly young painted Swallow CEECEE with a scarred blue beak.

Melody beady-eyes her as CeeCee breathlessly pitches – prime spot, high up in the second row, right in the eye-line of the judges – “you can’t fail to be called”.

Melody’s in. CeeCee then promptly disappears with all of Melody’s birdseed leaving her stranded on a perch behind a stabilizing beam with only a partial view of the auditions.

“Never trust an ink head,” a voice councils languidly. Melody turns in horror to see a cat sizing her up.

But this cat’s not interested in eating birds. PURDY is the name. Gender non-specific. Possibly female with a low voice or a tomcat with a high one, hard to tell.

Purdy warns Melody she shouldn’t trust anyone around here.

Melody - “Especially not a cat,”

Good point, Purdy admits, picking his teeth, then offering his massive fur belly for a scratch. He’s no hunter. Probably why he was left behind at the RV park.

Melody tells him she’s here to lead the dawn chorus. Purdy nods. And purrs.

She reads him. Is it because of her wing? Her faded colors? So what. It’s about her song not her looks. It’s her dream. Purdy admires her spunk.

They’re interrupted by a chorus of adulation as ELTON, the razzle-dazzle colored Cardinal who led that morning’s dawn chorus passes through the rafters to receive acclaim and well wishes from the various musicians who supported last night’s success.

Elton - “It was a struggle but in the end I managed to convince Mr. Sun to wake up and bless us all with his presence. Hallelujah!”

“Or Her presence,” Melody mutters.

Elton ascends to the twinkle light lit tree next to the ice cream stand on top of the pier. There is a brittleness to the brilliance, a hunger in the air. The hopefuls talk about the glorious above. What it must be like up there in the bright lights.

And this is where she hears and experiences those others like her who are vying to be heard.

Wannabe auditioners barter to secure a perch from the various hustler critters like CeeCee, and RATSO, but only those with a means to pay (sand worms) stand a chance.

 There are lots of different kinds of birds. From many different lands.

A Tom Petty-like bird who is running too high—everyone worries that he’s going ‘too fast’—hopped up.   Giving his all. He senses he’s at the end after a hard life of music.

Withered Bill - an odd duck with soul.

A tap dancing Seagull whose taps on the sand brings worms to the surface and which he then compelled to shovel down, losing his timing.

And a big fat blind hummingbird who can’t fly and sits around drinking Gatorade and giving advice to those off key and feeling faces with his long nose.

Melody looks down the perches at the row of preening Bluejays; picture songbird perfect and identical except for her. Smoothing glossy feathers into place with puckered beaks.

One arches an eyebrow at Melody and rolls her eyes. “Is that -- gum?”

“Kind of a punk thing,” Melody offers. 

The audition is exclusively for birds but the supporting house band are comprised of all different animals like DIZZY CHIPMUNK - playing instruments made out of beach detritus, warm up and banter like a late show band:

“Hey Dizzy? Where you been since April?”

“A lot of gigs in Canada.”

“Winnipeg, Montreal, Edmonton, Saskatoon — I cant even remember to tell you the truth.”

 “Travelin, watchin’ the master himself do what he do.”

Their Instruments are like these, fashioned out of bottle caps, yarn, music boxes, washed up detritus:

Melody hears their warm up jam on the other side of the pillar , and in excited anticipation she mimes and acts out - her reflection in the ocean below the imagined dream version of herself.

She is interrupted by a bellowing voice from below - BELLOWS - The audition MC; A knarly-assed donkey walking in circles, tied up in the shade with his other beach ride-for-hire brethren.

The Judges take their prime perches. A flock of critical-eyed seagulls (because naturally those who can’t sing -- judge).

The house band kicks off and the open audition is cut throat and free flowing like the opening of A Chorus Line meets the finale of 8 mile:

Each auditioner is called from their perch for a brief opportunity to shine:

A range of musical styles and performances; spoken word shore birds, operatic peacocks, choirs tidy as Mormons poke their heads through knots in the wood -- “The Pigeonholes!”. Some choreograph flying with singing.

Then Bellows calls up to MELODY, catching her off guard. The moment is hers…

Melody panics. She opens her mouth only instead of making a sound to her own horror and surprise she LAYS AN EGG. The bird equivalent of shitting the bed – literally.

The house band halts, mouths agape.

The Bluejay breaks the awkward silence. “Is this a talent show or a singing contest?” Laughter follows, then Melody: “Wait –” but Bellows has already moved onto the next hopeful.

Side of mouth murmurs of “what a joke”.

 Melody is brushed aside by another hopeful who wants her perch and she drops to the beach.

Purdy is the only one to approach. She’ll be fine. Not everyone is what they hope to be.

But Melody is angry. She knows she’s better than the flock she flew with.

Purdy eyes her. Non judgemental.

Melody breaks down. She hadn’t laid in months before this, she thought she was done with eggs. What horrible timing.

“Or impeccable,” Purdy counters.

They laugh. To the point of pissing themselves. Literally. Purdy is tickled pink by Melody and starts to sing to her. No backing music. Just a pure unfiltered voice. Quite beautiful. And when Purdy moves his large body, twisting and turning himself into the diva he yearns to be, even more so.

When he finishes, Melody realizes she too is who she is. She’s proud of her flock and feels bad about what she said. She’ll enjoy the dawn chorus, even if that bitch of a blue jay is singing.

But Purdy has a plan. Perhaps it’s too early to call it quits. He suggests they go see GLORIA. Not the nicest creature, but one who carries real weight in the scene. If Gloria backs her then no one will stand in her way at the sing off tonight.

Melody: “Why would Gloria help me?”

Purdy and Gloria have an affinity. Whatever that means.

Why would YOU help me? Melody wonders. “You’re a cat. I’m a bird” But Purdy knows better than most how unfulfilled dreams eat away at you.

Purdy leads Melody across the sand and into a storm drain.

THE DRAIN is a 24/7 dance club that vibrates with the pulsing beat of “Lose Yourself to Dance” -

The Salamanders are killer dancers. Melody is enthralled as she passes through the endless dance floor.

(The repetitious bit is voiced by a toad) –

Top lit by the neon lights of the pier above.

Purdy instructs Melody to wait in the club until he calls for her. What has a habit of falling out of her beak might get them in trouble, Purdy then waltzes through a collection of humorless CRAB MUSCLE and into the inner sanctum ‘run off’ of GLORIA —

Accompanied by the sound of the crashing waves of the Pacific, the run-off is piled high with trash. It glitters like treasure; the spoils of the Frog-Goblin King.

A first Gloria is just a voice in the darkness, Brando’s Kurtz in Apocalypse Now.

Finally a very male and very large bullfrog appears within the shadows. Flatulent from all orifices, he lounges on top of a semi-inflated football-

A really glittery chip packet looks like his mylar waterbed.

Curling smoke rings from a hookah fashioned from an airplane whisky bottle clasped in one webbed hand, a baby alligator leashed with a toilet chain in the other.

He lounges surrounded by his loot. The place is like a bling room.

Gloria has an anarchic and dangerous sensibility like Molina’s in Boogie Nights.

This de facto impresario wears a woman’s ID bracelet around his neck, GLORIA etched in cursive.

Gloria is Seymour Stein, Suge Knight, and Jabba the Hutt rolled into one big amphibian.

Behind him - Translucent skin salamanders are his pole sliding harem.

You don’t want to tangle with this frog but he is behind the success of many birds who have led the Dawn Chorus. He is furious at being interrupted.

A fast talking seagull judge (on the take) is giving Gloria the rundown of that day’s auditioning hopefuls.

But Gloria and Purdy go way back. Somewhere.

The seagull judge on the take suddenly EXPLODES.

Gloria isn’t shocked. Just angry - “Goddammit!!! No matter how many times I sent that flying rat to rehab he couldn’t keep his beak out of my Tums.”

Gloria is Simon Cowell on steroids, a sociopathic bully.

Purdy pleads Melody’s case. She’s a bird with dreams.

Gloria relents. Fine, for a brief fly-eating moment this Melody can have a private – audition, complete with sinister exploitive undertones.

Purdy calls to Melody and she steps into the light.

Glioria turns one glassy eye on her. Then purses his mouth in wet distaste.

“Ugh. No. Not happening.

Melody: “Why not?”

Gloria: “Why not? You kidding me? — You’d look better feathered up onstage than this split tail, Purdy”.

Purdy takes this in, hurt but also – dared by it.

Purdy goes to pull Melody away but she shakes him off. “You’re okay with this?” Purdy warns her, but she’s not finished.

But Gloria, like Trump meeting the Yazidi Pulitzer Prize winner, is unmoved.

He brands her a “Joke.”

She turns back to Gloria. “What, you’ve got a problem with MY appearance, that it?

Melody is tossed onto the sand, her dream dashed. The pier lights are far away.

She tells Purdy to leave her. He’s sorry.

Melody walking back alone across the sand as night falls.

She passes a couple of vagrant animals on the sand. One of them is DjangCrow. He feels her pain. Does she want to hang with the old timers? Melody’s at a low point. They’re right. She’s nothing but a backyard bird with a big beak.

Meanwhile, under the pier the sing off is about to begin.

“Give Me a G, guys –” BARRY, a lovebird, starts whistling . Brilliant whistling that builds into pentatonics and the house band starts up.

That bitch of a Bluejay fluffs her feathers, sings scales and prepares for her moment on the cross beam, unaware of a shadow looming behind her.

Purdy, front paws rigid, tail vibrating with unleashed instinct. Ready to POUNCE – (and we cut on an explosion of feathers).

Barry finishes his whistling magic to thunderous flapping of wings and studied head nods from the seagull critics.

Bellows the donkey MC announces, “And our next finalist?!

Back on the beach, Melody looks out at the water, the waves, the wide world. The sun melting into molten gold stripes before dipping below the horizon. “Goodbye old friend,” she whispers, her reverie broken when Djangcrow offers her the Cheeto he’s passing around joint style. She goes to take it but stops when she hears the opening bars of – It’s Purdy’s song.

Center stage, balanced on the cross beam, an enormous robed shadow, its back to us.

As the song kicks in, the shadow turns and we glimpse the performer’s face: A tied-on sno cone beak, feathers as fluttering false eyelashes – it’s Purdy the cat in FULL GLAMOUR PUSS DROP DEAD BIRD DRAG!

Everyone has a dream indeed. As he turns to face the audience he opens his robe, revealing shining silver wings fashioned from gum wrappers. Truly himself at last. Bright as a diamond.

And all the birds laugh. And they throw eggs, which smear his costume.

His wings drop. Purdy is defeated.

Melody steps onto the cross beam and goes to help him. Like he helped her. And she starts singing. Not to the crowd or the judges but to him.

This is what she sings:

DjangCrow picks up his guitar and joins in.

Her singing voice is totally unique.

As deep as Benjamin Clementine - like Nina Simone.

And the spotlight moves to Melody. Which she shares with Purdy.

And the band pick up what she’s putting down.

And she starts to sing directly to those watching. Forcing them to consider what she’s saying. And singing with such power. It feels something like this moment -

It’s incredible, even Gloria emerges from his storm drain to hear this voice of gold,  but just as she reaches the climax and unleashes the full power of her spirit, her soul – the whole pier is swamped by a ROGUE WAVE.

Gum wrapper feathers glitter like confetti as the water settles and recedes, revealing a few soggy birds clinging to their perches.

Bellows’ head emerges above the receding water. He spits a fountain from his mouth.

“Next?!” He bellows. But the sing-off has been wiped out.

Is Melody really just a joke? Or did she change the world.